behindthehatred

[behindthehatred]

Romantic dinner for two in Snape’s chambers

At five minutes to seven she headed down to the dungeons, and approached his office with butterflies in her stomach. The door was already ajar, so she pushed it open and was astounded to see thirty or forty candles dotted around the room, some floating in mid-air, others gathered on bookshelves, and a little fold-out table in the middle of the room laid with napkins, cutlery and platters covered in brass cloches.

‘Wow,’ she said as she walked in, closing the door behind her. ‘What’s the occasion?’

‘I thought we’d celebrate having the castle to ourselves,’ Snape said from the doorway to the bedroom. A bottle of Champagne and a crystal flute had been floating beside the table, and now drifted over to Delilah and nudged her elbow, so she took the glass and allowed it to be filled by the bottle. The bottle and a second glass drifted over to Snape, who did the same, then raised the glass in a silent toast. She raised her own and they each took a sip, holding eye contact.

‘Well, shall we…?’ he said, gesturing the lavishly laid table.

‘Oh, yes,’ Delilah said, making her way towards it. He darted around the table and held out her chair for her. As she sat down he gathered her hair out of the way of the chair and let it fall down the back. He took his own seat, and lifted off the brass cloche to reveal two lobsters.

‘Lobster,’ Delilah smiled. ‘My favourite. How did you know?’

‘I can’t take credit I’m afraid. For that or any of this,’ he said, gesturing the candles. ‘I sent down to the kitchens for a house elf to prepare dinner for two in my chambers, and they seem to have… taken the initiative.’

‘We don’t literally have the castle to ourselves do we?’ she said, uncovering the other platters to reveal wedges of lemon, dishes of fresh greens, chips, and little silver jugs of sauces.

‘More or less,’ he said, lifting one of the lobsters onto her plate with a pair of silver tongs. ‘There are a handful of students left, but nothing Filch can’t handle should they choose to misbehave. We always have to have at least one Head of House on the premises if there are any students around, and on this occasion everyone else had other places to be, so it fell to me. Filius is at a conference, Minerva’s visiting her niece, Pomona’s a judge at some kind of horticultural show, and the headmaster’s off doing goodness knows what. I thought we’d make the most of there being nobody around to notice that you’re not in your bed in the morning.’

Delilah’s stomach squeezed. She snapped one of the lobster’s claws with the cracker on the side of her plate, and used the long fork to winkle out a perfect horn of flesh.

‘I’m staying for the night?’ she said.

‘If you want to. You’ve almost done it by accident enough times. And you can have that bath you’ve been going on about.’

‘I mentioned that once,’ she protested with a smile. ‘A bath does sound amazing though.’

‘Well. Perhaps I’ll join you.’

He gave her a smile through the prongs of the candelabra. Maybe because he so seldom smiled, or perhaps it was the glow of the candles and the effects of the Champagne, but she felt the most overpowering, unexpected rush of adrenaline swoop right through her and straight to her head, so that when she tried to smile back at him, she wasn’t sure she managed it since her lips seemed to be twitching of their own accord. She lifted her drink to her mouth instead, and it trembled in her hand, spitting tiny golden droplets on her wrist as the bubbles sparkled over the lip of the flute.

Once they’d devoured the meal, as well as two crème brûlées in crystal dishes with a handful of plump raspberries on the side, Delilah leaned backwards in her chair and put her hands on her stomach.

‘That was absolutely divine,’ she said, putting the last raspberry in her glass so the Champagne fizzed around it and buoyed it to the top. ‘Thank you.’

He simply nodded in response, then stood and held out his hand for hers. She allowed herself to be pulled to her feet and led through to the adjoining room, where the bathroom door stood ajar. Severus pushed it open to reveal yet more floating candles, and the air thick with scented steam from the bathtub, which was filled with hot fragrant water and sprinkled with rose petals.

‘Did you do this?’ Delilah said in amazement. ‘Or was it the house elf again?’

‘I did, actually. I had to consult an immensely silly book in the library to find a charm for keeping bath water hot. If anybody spotted me, my reputation will be ruined.’

Delilah walked up to the sink unit, which was also scattered with rose petals. She picked up a petal and crushed it between her fingers, feeling suddenly shy. She took another sip of Champagne for something to do, and looked at the blurred outline of her reflection in the misted mirror. Snape came up behind her and snaked his arms around her waist, beginning to unbutton her blouse from the bottom, and her stomach began to fizz as his fingers climbed upwards.

This is an excerpt from my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’. To read more, go to behindthehatred(.)com or follow the link in my profile.

[behindthehatred]

Slide into Snape’s DMs...

Where are you?

Where I always am at 8pm on a Wednesday night. And you?

You know where I am. Fucking detention.

Oh dear. Naughty girl.

You utter bastard. Couldn’t you have got me out of it?

Certainly not. Serves you right for wandering the corridors after hours.

I fell asleep!

And that was my fault?

Yes! You fell asleep first, you’re supposed to remind me of the time.

My sincerest apologies. At least you have me to entertain you through your punishment.

True. These parchments are a genius invention. McGonagall thinks I’m doing a Potions essay.

Quite the skiving aid. Where did you get them from, incidentally?

There’s a shop on Diagon Alley, Weasley’s Wheezes or something, one of the owners sent them to me.

Which owner?

George Weasley.

You’re friends with George Weasley?

Well, not really. Sort of. I met him in the shop, and we went for a drink one time.

Oh, a drink. How cosy. I’m sure his tour of the shop was most illuminating.

Tour?

Took you into his back room, I assume? Showed you all of his exciting inventions?

How on earth do you know about that room?

I’m a spy. I know everything. This is an excerpt from my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’. Follow the link in my profile to read the rest, or visit behindthehatred(.)com.

[behindthehatred]

Inside Snape’s bedroom...

As they’d packed up their equipment she’d lingered over her bottles and books, reluctant to leave this Snape-soaked place, so that by the time she left the classroom the stampede up to dinner had left the corridor empty, and as she passed Snape’s door it suddenly opened, he stepped out into the small alcove and they came face to face. In an instant she’d sidestepped into the alcove and he’d shoved her against the back wall and kissed her roughly for five or six furious seconds before the sound of footsteps made them leap apart and make their separate ways up the stairs, Delilah’s cheek stinging from the scrape of his stubble on her skin. During dinner she’d again barely managed any food and had glanced at him across the room as often as she dared, sometimes fleetingly meeting his fathomless eyes, other times feeling his glance flicker over her.

Now she ran her hands up his back, electrified by the intensity of the desire and happiness that she felt from being here at this unorthodox hour whilst everyone else slept, which somehow made it feel the more forbidden and secret, so close to him, smelling him and touching him, and she squeezed him as close to her as she could. It was a restless, hyperactive need. She felt a crazed urge to bite his earlobe, sink her fingertips into his flesh hard enough to bruise him, pull his hair, scratch his skin, as if ordinary proximity somehow didn’t satisfy her desire for closeness.

‘Fuck,’ she breathed, almost involuntarily.

The taut urgency in her limbs seemed to reverberate through him and he grabbed her by the jaw and gave her a biting kiss, his hands massaging her arse and then lifting her easily so she wrapped her legs around him, and he walked her to the door and rested her back against it. Without releasing her lips from his, she unbuttoned her jeans and braced her shoulder blades against the door to slide them off her hips, then set about unbuttoning his robes from the navel downwards, as he twitched her blouse open and growled in pleasure to find her breasts naked and swollen under it. They grappled together with his belt buckle and then he pushed her up, leaned his hips into her, and she slid down onto the hard length of his cock with a stammered inhalation at the unexpected sensation of the angle. He pressed his whole body weight into her in order to hold her against the door and used one hand to support her thigh and the other to trace tiny circles around her nipple with his thumb, his palm massaging her breast and then sliding along her collar bone, gripping behind her head, wrapping his fingertips around the soft hairs at the nape of her neck as he pulsed in and out of her, her forearm rigid on his shoulder, lifting herself up and down in concert, his breath becoming staggered, then coming out in yelps, until he came so hard and suddenly that he collapsed against her, crushing the helix of her ear into her scalp like a pressed maple leaf.

They stayed where they were for a moment, wilting with gradual grace back into standing positions, Delilah wrapping her arms around his slack form and straightening to support his weight, and she led them to the chaise lounge where they fell into a warm tangle of disarranged limbs and clothing. She propped herself up on her elbow to pour two cups of coffee, handed him one, and then leaned back against his chest, both hands around the warm mug. They half-sat, half-lay in peaceable silence, the heat of the fire washing over them, just gazing at each other.

Eventually she looked around the room.

‘Do you sleep here?’

‘Of course. Where else would I sleep?’

‘I don’t know. I never really thought about it.’

‘Did you think we had dormitories?’

‘Totally. You and Filch cosying up in your jim jams with mugs of cocoa, arguing about whether or not Mrs Norris is allowed on the beds.’

‘What a chilling thought.’

‘And Professor Flitwick of course, grumbling about you two gossiping after lights out while he’s trying to sleep.’

‘Do shut up. The bedroom’s just through there,’ he said, indicating a door beside the fireplace with his cup.

‘Can I see it?’

‘If you like.’

She stretched her legs and swung them off the chaise lounge, walked across the threadbare rug carrying her mug and pushed open the door. An austere bed with a high headboard had been assiduously made in plain white sheets with black edging, and a bedside table housed a pewter jug, a goblet and a stack of books. Besides that there was nothing but a wooden wardrobe in the corner, another bookshelf, and a line of hooks with four or five cloaks hanging on the wall. She walked around the bed to another door, which led into a surprisingly spacious bathroom with a high, square tub in the corner like the one at Grimmauld Place. This is an excerpt from my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’. Follow the link in my profile to read the rest, or visit behindthehatred(.)com.

[behindthehatred]

Behind the Hatred | 18: Under the Table

Her path took her to the third floor, past the empty Defence against the Dark Arts classroom. She glanced at the timetable pinned to the noticeboard beside the door as she passed and then, after walking on a few paces, froze and retraced her steps. She stood in the doorway staring hard at the desk in front of the blackboard, and a mad flash of inspiration seized her. Before she even knew what she was doing she had darted into the classroom, slamming the door closed behind her, and slithered under the handsome carved wooden desk, crawling into the far right corner and pulling her knees to her chest to take up as little space as possible, her heart hammering so violently she could feel it against her thighs.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she muttered frantically to herself. As soon as she was there she began to panic. It seemed next to impossible that this could end in anything but disaster.

The students would be coming in any second, this was madness, madness… but before she had time to reconsider she heard the door crash open and footsteps coming into the room.

‘…for the thousandth time, won’t work unless you know exactly what to ask,’ a girl’s voice was saying. ‘Can’t you just drop this obsession and focus on the more important matter at hand…’

Her voice was drowned out by the sound of a handful more students coming in. Snape still wasn’t there, and she wildly contemplated just crawling out, ducking her head and making a run for it in spite of the assembled students, but before she could do so, an unmistakeable silence fell.

‘Turn to page ninety-six.’

Professor Snape had arrived.

The desk was deep and entirely enclosed on three sides, meaning she could avoid detection as long as Snape didn’t push his legs out at an angle into the corner she was curled up in. She squeezed her legs tighter to her body.

‘…going to be discussing the advantages and disadvantages of the various concealment charms which we’ve learned about over the past few weeks…’

She could hear the sound of chalk scraping; he was obviously teaching from the blackboard. Was there a chance he’d stay standing for the next hour?

‘…anyone give me the main drawback of the Disillusionment Charm?’

An indistinct murmur came from the classroom and several people laughed.

‘Thank you Mr Finnigan,’ Snape’s voice rang out, much more distinct for coming to her from the open side of the desk. ‘The Disillusionment Charm should be far from “effing impossible” for a sixth-year wizard who has applied himself to his studies, but you are correct in the sense that incompetent execution can render partial results, most commonly manifesting in incomplete concealment against light-coloured surfaces…’

She could see the bottom few inches of his robes and his shoes pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard.‘…anyone give me another form of magical concealment not yet covered?’Her muscles had begun to seize up. She pressed her back carefully against the side of the desk and slightly loosened her grip on her legs. She prayed that the desk was too heavy to be moved by her body weight.

‘…Mr Weasley, but unless you intend to demonstrate a hitherto unsuspected genius for Transfiguration and transform yourself or another into a Demiguise in order to weave its hair into a garment, an Invisibility Cloak cannot be considered a teachable method of concealment…’

He paced back and forth and she swung between terror, wild excitement, and a mad impulse to laugh. She found herself wondering what he was wearing underneath his robes. She tried to remember if she’d caught any glimpse on that night, but all she could picture was a swirl of black fabric being wrenched aside by tremblingly impatient hands, and then his cock springing free…She swallowed hard.

‘…rolls of parchment detailing each of the methods of magical concealment discussed today, plus any others you may wish to proffer from your own research, focusing specifically on their advantages and drawbacks. You may begin now. There will be no need for talking; if you have any questions please approach my desk.’ There was a rustling of papers and the ripping sound of a few Velcro satchel flaps. The legs of the chair in front of her scraped the floor as it was pulled back, and the light under the desk diminished as Snape threw himself heavily into the chair, leaning his weight back, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, shoving themselves into the space under the desk. Delilah squeezed herself up as small as she could. She heard a shuffling overhead as he rummaged through a sheaf of parchments; otherwise, only the scratching of quills and the odd sigh disturbed the silence. She hardly dared to breathe. She stared at the elegant folds of black material that draped the air, the form of his legs outlined under them, the tidy black shoes, barely four inches from her own feet. What on earth would he do if he moved his legs and brushed against her? Would he yell, drag her out, publicly expose her? Would he ignore her until the end of the lesson? Would he press his legs against her? Maybe even spread them, inviting her between them…? The idea went through her like a shot of Firewhiskey, and every single inch of her body clenched with excitement. *

This is an excerpt from Chapter 18 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’. If you enjoyed this (and to find out what happens next...!) check it out at behindthehatred(.)com or follow the link in my profile.

[behindthehatred]

Behind the Hatred | 16: The Forest Clearing

‘You did want me,’ she said, her voice now so soft it was almost a whisper. ‘It wasn’t a moment of madness, the other night. You wanted me all along. You lied about the Dermorestorative Poultice so you’d get to touch me. Just admit it.’

He regarded her, his thin lips parted.

‘And if I did?’ he said, in an unexpectedly defeated tone. ‘I acted for your own good. This should never have happened, and it cannot continue.’

She released a huge, sighing exhalation of desire, and took another step towards him, ramming into his chest. She snaked her arms around his waist and pulled him in towards her, resting her chin on his shoulder to bury her face in his neck, feeling the rough skin of his cheek against her own, breathing in his spicy scent.

‘No,’ he said weakly, standing perfectly upright, his hands hanging straight by his sides, but she ran the tip of her tongue over the tense stem of his throat and could feel his pulse galloping against his skin. She lifted his hands and placed them around her own waist, pressing herself hard against him.

‘No,’ he said again, but his voice was barely a grunt; the leather pouch dropped to the ground with a soft rustle, and his hands were already exploring her body. He shoved her backwards so that she crashed into a tree trunk, and he fell on her, digging his hands into her hair and breathing hoarsely in her ear. She arched her back against the rough bark and stretched her neck in ecstasy so that the barely-clotted slit in her skin burst open again and a fresh surge of hot blood rushed over her. He made a small sound in his throat and pressed his bare fingertips against the wound to stem the flow, tipped her head back, gazing at her face with a look of animal hunger, and then with his other hand began to pull at her robes, tugging them up to her waist. With her own hands she fumbled with the buttons at the front of her robes, pulling them open at the chest as he grappled at her thighs… This is an excerpt from Chapter 16 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’. If you liked this, please go to behindthehatred(.)com to read more, or follow the link in my profile.

[behindthehatred]

Behind the Hatred | 16: The Forest Clearing

As she arrived at the school gates, a familiar sable-black owl appeared against the greyish cloud coverage, and wove a leisurely path through the air towards her. She held out her forearm for it to land on, and pulled a scrap of parchment from its claws. See me. The bird took off and Delilah closed her eyes and smiled to herself. She flung her arms out wide and spun in circles for a few moments, then laughed aloud and hugged herself, staggering to regain her balance. She started towards the school at a run, her cheeks pink from exertion, her eyes sparkling. She skittered across the Entrance Hall and wheeled around and down the staircase to the dungeons, retracing her journey of the previous night, and turned into the alcove where his door was. The door sprang open as she approached it, and she walked in to find him standing at a collapsible cauldron mounted on his desk. ‘Hey,’ she said softly, closing the door behind her. He didn’t say anything, but tapped his wand on the lip of the cauldron so that the flame beneath it extinguished. Delilah edged closer to him, waiting for him to look at her. He turned his back to her to lift a small crystal beaker from a high shelf, and busied himself again at the still-smoking cauldron. She wished she could think of something to say. What would Lilith say? Severus… I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I need you again right now… ‘Drink this.’ Snape thrust the beaker at her with his left hand, still staring into the cauldron. She took it automatically. ‘What is it?’ she said, blinking stupidly. ‘A contraceptive potion.’ She was so wrong-footed, she almost dropped the beaker. ‘For… for what?’ Snape finally looked at her. ‘For what?’ he repeated in disbelief. ‘But I mean… for yesterday?’ ‘Just drink it,’ he snapped, turning away. Delilah drained the beaker of the thin, light potion which smelled of parsley and spearmint but tasted of hardly anything, and then stood awkwardly with the beaker in her hand. Snape was crouching over his desk, now sorting through a pile of parchment. She took a step towards him, so that she was close to his hunched back. She wanted to inch up to him and snake her arm around his waist, but she knew instinctively that he would slap her away. ‘P… Professor?’ she said timidly. ‘Leave the beaker on the desk,’ he said without turning. ‘You may go.’ She put the beaker down but didn’t leave. ‘Professor?’ she said again. He sighed and turned to her, leaning backwards slightly when he found her standing so close. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, not sure of what to say. ‘Last night…’ she ventured. ‘Let us be absolutely clear,’ he interrupted through a clenched jaw. ‘Last night was a foolish mistake on both of our parts. I suggest we both forget it ever happened.’ ‘But…’ she stammered. ‘But didn’t you… enjoy it?’ ‘It meant nothing whatsoever to me. It was a moment of madness, and it will not happen again.’ This is an excerpt from Chapter 16 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’. If you liked this, please go to behindthehatred(.)com to read more, or follow the link in my profile.

[behindthehatred]

Behind the Hatred | 14: Wrong

‘…Severus?’

He took off at once and hurtled across the hall, away from them, away from them all… He had watched her from a second floor window a couple of weeks earlier, coming back across the grounds from the greenhouses in a bitterly icy gale, her classmates sprinting ahead of her, a clutch of girls clumping up the steps, their faces scrunched in ugly grimaces against the assailing wind, one of them clapping her satchel to her arse with one hand and flinging the other back and forth like she was wading knee-deep in rapid water; and there, following at a distance, with all the urgency of a Siamese cat, looking like a wisp that would be whipped away in the wind but, somehow, as composed and unperturbed as a thistle, her gaze at its customary 145-degree stare, lost to the elements, lost to the world, trapped in a seasonless shuck of her own, Delilah… and now he ran down the stairs from the Entrance Hall, wondered if you fancied… and he could have sworn he smelt her before he saw her, her absolutely singular scent of jasmine and sea salt, before he found her, as he knew he would, hovering anxiously outside his office, her pale face glowing in the shadows.

She opened her mouth as if to speak and he dimly registered that she was wearing an absurdly unseasonal button-down red dress covered in little floral sprigs as he grabbed her by the arm and bundled her through the door, dragged her into his chthonic chamber before she could speak a word, and he kicked the door shut behind them and grasped her in a crushing embrace, squeezing her like he would grind her into pomegranate seeds, backing her against the chaise lounge, already ripping inexpertly at the buttons at her chest. He grappled her dress off her shoulders to find a red lacy brassiere underneath, which he also wrestled off her, then tugged her skirt up, bunching it in one hand and gathering it by her hip to expose matching knickers. He flattened one hand over her breast and felt for the elastic of her knickers with the other, and she clutched at him so hard her fingernails dug in through his robes, giving dovelike little cries and then a long, ragged gasp when he pushed his fingers inside her knickers and plunged them into her hot, creamy petals, and when he felt how feverishly wet she was a pang of lust hit him so powerfully that his vision blacked out for a moment, and his fingers spasmed with desperation for more, cramming into her. He found her simultaneously wide open, gasping for him, and somehow closed like a locket, but the savage ache which had plagued him for so many weeks made him mad with passion, and he pulled his hand out of her knickers in order to wrench the slip of lace down and jerk her hips towards him, tilting them with both hands and pushing one of her legs away so that she was suspended on the edge of the chaise lounge’s raised armrest, leaning back on one wrist, her other hand on his shoulder, and he pushed his own waistband down so that his erection sprang free, and plunged it into her with a long, low groan.

*

This is an extract from Chapter 14 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’. If you enjoyed this, read the rest at behindthehatred(.)com.

[behindthehatred]

Behind the Hatred | Chapter 13: Touch Me

Delilah stared at his back and took a step towards him. She felt like her head was inflating and ants were scurrying over her skin, up and down the inside of her throat and through her veins. She edged closer to him and breathed in his distinctive scent, spicy, heady, complex: the smell of vetiver, of the vapour from freshly blown-out candles, of ink-smudged fingertips tearing a handful of fresh oregano leaves.

Snape felt her approach and turned, to find her so close he brushed her bare skin with the sleeve of his robes. He recoiled, holding his hands up slightly.

‘What are you–’ he said guardedly.

‘Touch me,’ she blurted out.

His eyes darted over her face, and his lips twitched as though they were forming the beginnings of a dozen different words, but none came out.

‘Touch me,’ she went on recklessly, moving closer still, her head spinning, ‘touch me properly, not like you’re examining me, do it like you want to, do it like you – like you want – like you want me, like you…’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said, but his voice was uncharacteristically weak.

‘You owe me,’ she pressed on wildly, breathing with deranged fervour, grasping at the front of his robes. ‘For the Floo Powder thing, you said you owed me, do this, do this for me…’

A tiny voice in her head was aware of how humiliating this was, how ill-advised, how stupid, but it was drowned out by the thunderous tide of lust that was crashing through her, blinding her, taking over her limbs and her vocal chords.

‘And this is how you want to cash in that favour?’ Snape said.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she breathed, now pressing herself against him and pulling at his sleeves, trying to lift his hands, her eyes half-closed, her head flopping, and she heard him say ‘as you wish’, but she was already insensible to everything except the rough cloth of his robes against her flesh, which flushed a violent scarlet in response, the shock of his skin on hers as he held her waist firmly, and was dimly aware of her knees buckling underneath her and him catching her and guiding her to his desk onto which she fell, leaning back on her hands and tipping her head so that her hair fanned down behind her in pinnate fronds as his hands crawled up her body… at last, at last the deliberate, caressing touch she had so long craved, and she gave a deep moan as his fingertips brushed along her ribcage and his thumbs traced the underside of her breasts. His hands danced over her flushed skin with a maddeningly light touch, circling in closer to her nipples, and then she felt a shock of wet heat as his mouth closed over her ruckled areola.

She whimpered in pleasure and began to gyrate her hips towards him, demented with passion at the feeling of his hands and mouth on her and desperate for even a moment’s glancing friction against her clit, which was pounding with excitement, velvety and slick with the hot, beating tremors which thrilled through her, and she was so tight with arousal that she felt she would scream if he didn’t slide his hands into her knickers that instant, and as he lifted her breasts in both hands to his mouth, still running the flat of his tongue over her nipples, she blindly tried to hook her leg around his to pull him in closer to her.

He twitched out of her reach.

‘Mmmmherenow,’ she groaned incoherently, grasping for his hand, but he snatched it away.

‘No,’ he said, standing up straight and letting go of her.

‘Nnnnoooo,’ she moaned, giving a matter-of-fact little shake of the head as though he had foolishly misunderstood her, grabbing again at his arm and clasping a handful of his robes, trying to guide him between her legs.

He pulled his robes out of her grasp, and she raised her head and opened her eyes slowly.

‘Touch me,’ she pleaded, her voice thick with desire.

‘I have done as you asked.’

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head again and reaching for his hand, ‘I want…’

‘I know perfectly well what you want. That was not part of the deal.’

Delilah blinked and focused her eyes on him properly, as though waking from a trance.

‘But you can’t just… You can’t just stop, you can’t…’

‘I can.’

‘But you want to, I know you do,’ she insisted, stumbling to her feet and lurching towards him, grabbing at his thigh.

He caught her wrist. She looked up at him; his face was twisted and livid.

‘I want nothing from you,’ he said harshly. ‘I have upheld my end of the bargain, that is all. I know you think your tits are the most irresistibly fascinating things in existence, but they’re not. They hold no interest for me whatsoever.’

He swooped down to the flagstones and retrieved her camisole, jumper and wand, and thrust them at her chest, shoving her so hard to the door that she staggered and gasped. He strode to the door and tore it open open.

‘You have extracted your pound of flesh, you naïve little whore,’ he snarled, breathing like a Spanish bull, ‘now get – out.’ This is an excerpt from Chapter 13 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’. Visit behindthehatred (.) com to read the rest, or follow the link in my profile.

[behindthehatred]

Snapetober Day 11: Scars

She approached Snape’s office with mounting nerves. She paused outside, her fist suspended a few inches away from the door, biting her lip. ‘Enter,’ came a voice from within, before she’d knocked. She pushed open the door. ‘How did you know I was out there?’ Snape was sitting at his desk studying a large book. The snow was now swirling thickly outside the window and the fire was lit. He looked up at her and didn’t answer. She noticed a decanter of port on the desk, and a small empty glass beside it. She closed the door behind her. Snape leaned back in his chair with his arms outstretched before him and stared at his hands, knitted loosely at the fingertips. His silence seemed to hang around him like a fog-blackened net curtain. ‘Did you want to have another lesson?’ she asked, in order to break it. ‘No,’ he said without shifting his gaze. Delilah felt a growing self-consciousness, but, having already tried to break the silence once, felt she couldn’t again. She shifted from one foot to the other and watched Professor Snape. Eventually he gave a noise like a cross between a cough and a sigh and sat upright, resting his hands on his desk and pushing himself into a standing position. ‘I wanted to check that you haven’t had an adverse reaction to the Dermorestorative Poultice,’ he said. ‘Adverse reaction?’ ‘It’s a powerful substance which can sometimes provoke a rash. Do you have a rash?’ ‘No.’ ‘Any itching or burning?’ ‘No.’ He walked over to her, stood right in front of her and placed the back of his hand on her forehead. ‘Any fever?’ ‘No,’ she breathed. ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘You feel slightly warm,’ he said. ‘I have done all day… On and off, I mean, but not… I don’t think it’s a fever.’ ‘And the wounds? Any swelling or discolouration?’ ‘I… I don’t know, I haven’t checked…’ He moved the back of his hand to rest against her cheek, and then pressed it on her jawline. ‘Let me see,’ he said. Delilah gave a great, involuntary shiver and yanked her jumper by the shoulder seams, pulling it over her head in such a jumble that she emerged with her hair standing up in static fronds around her face, her cheeks flushed, tugging the inside-out jumper sleeve from her wrist and dropping it to the floor. She stood in her camisole, waiting for the instruction that she knew was coming. A blotchy rash was already creeping up her chest and neck. She tried to stop her breath from coming so shallowly, but didn’t succeed. ‘Take this off,’ he said, indicating the camisole and glancing the knuckle of his index finger against her waist. She swallowed hard and slid the camisole up her ribcage and over her head, savouring the chill of the office on her naked skin, and dropped the camisole on the floor with her jumper. Snape stared at her. ‘It’s looking better,’ he said tonelessly. He lifted his hand, but only moved her shoulder so that her chest was facing the firelight. ‘How is the sensitivity? Increased, decreased?’ Delilah’s pulse was racing so quickly, she felt she was about to faint. ‘I don’t know,’ she said tremulously. Snape looked straight at her with his fathomless sable eyes and, without breaking contact, ran his finger along the scar that slashed across the top of her areola, faltering as the scar petered off, and then directing his touch down and around her nipple. ‘Well?’ ‘…Increased,’ Delilah gasped. He turned to his desk and retrieved the tub of Dermorestorative Poultice, twisting off the lid and tossing it back onto the desktop. He plunged his fingertips into the tub and flattened his left hand on her chest, his right hand clasped in a steadying grip around her ribcage, spreading the balm with thrumming fingertips, dancing like a spider across the knotted scar tissue that defaced her breasts, deftly avoiding her nipples which seemed to stand up and scream for attention, the fingers of his right hand tightening, digging into the tendons between her ribs, and Delilah half-closed her eyes and tipped her head back slightly, her balance wavering, her breath becoming audible… ‘That will do,’ he said suddenly, releasing her from his grip. Delilah thought his voice sounded harsh in his throat, and although he had taken his hands off her, he hadn’t moved away. She stood, staring at him, and he stared back at that over-tall, yet somehow tiny figure in her loose jeans, flushed, swollen, the raised points of her collarbone fluttering like moths in the firelight. In an uncharacteristic move, he bent to retrieve her camisole and jumper from the flagstoned floor and handed them to her, almost cordially. ‘I will see you tomorrow,’ he said. She ducked her head and stared stupidly at the clothing in her hand, then pulled the jumper over her head. She retrieved her satchel from where she’d left it on the floor, propped against the chaise lounge, and stuffed the camisole into it, then made for the door. ‘Happy Christmas Eve, Professor,’ she said softly from the doorway, and then slipped from the room and closed the door behind her. This is an extract from Chapter 11 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’ - check out the rest at behindthehatred (.) com, or follow the link in my profile.

[behindthehatred]

Snapetober Day 17: ‘Touch Starved’

Snape took the box and laid it on her desk, then turned back to face her. Her cheeks were pink and her chest heaving from the morning’s work, but he was marble-cool and as composed as ever.

She wondered why she wasn’t being unceremoniously dismissed, as she normally was when he decided a meeting was over.

‘Take this off,’ he said abruptly, gesturing at her jumper.

‘What?’

‘Take it off.’

A long pause elapsed between them before Delilah took her jumper by the hem, her forearms crossed, and peeled it over her head.

Underneath she was wearing a crinkled silk camisole.

‘Take that off as well,’ he said.

Again, she complied slowly. The strangeness of standing topless in Professor Snape’s office made her head spin and her heart pound. She realised she couldn’t catch a proper breath, and in spite of the chill air of the room, she flushed all over, and felt a trickle of sweat run down her back.

He turned away and picked up a brown glass jar from his desk.

‘Luckily, Professor Sprout has just provided the essential ingredients to brew a Dermorestorative Poultice,’ he said. ‘Very effective, but extremely dangerous if even a tiny bit of it should be accidentally swallowed, so I must insist on administering it myself.’

Delilah’s lips were quivering and her tongue felt leaden, so she indicated her consent by squaring her shoulders further, pressing her chest towards him. He dabbed his index finger into the pot and began at her shoulder, stroking at her wound with the utmost care, gently massaging the balm, which smelt bewitchingly of calendula and sage, into the raised edges of her skin. He dipped again into the jar and continued his progress down past the fold of her underarm and into the uppermost swell of her breast, before diverting to her sternum, where the wound was at its worst. He devoted his attention to the purple gash that hollowed out the centre of Delilah’s body, massaging carefully downwards, and then back up again, across the soft, flushed skin of her breast, which yielded beneath his fingertip, to where the wound grazed her areola. He now switched from his index finger to the pad of his thumb, and laid his entire hand over her breast, raised like a cage over her trembling flesh, just his thumb touching her, moving in methodical circles over her skin, which pulsed and stiffened under his touch.

Just as his thumb reached the end of the wound, where it was barely more than a scratch, his clenched fingers collapsed for a moment and the flat of his palm closed for a single moment over the throbbing warmth of her breast. Then it was gone.

‘That will do for now,’ he said throatily. He turned towards the window and stood, in bizarre, stiff aspect, staring out of it. 

Delilah blinked and gaped for a moment, then snatched up her camisole and jumper, dragged them over her head and rushed from the room without a word.

This is an excerpt from Chapter 11 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’ - follow the link in my profile to read the rest, or go to behindthehatred . com

[behindthehatred]

Snapetober Day 10: ‘You’re Bleeding’

Professor Snape had been held up by a delayed owl and was in a biting temper as he made his way to the Great Hall, so was not best pleased to be intercepted at the top of the staircase by a quivering, clammy-looking third-year who clung weakly to the bannister, looking like he was going to be sick.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ he snapped at the child. ‘Why aren’t you at the feast?’

The child paled and pointed mutely along the corridor like a tiny grim reaper.

Snape turned and saw, several feet away, a pool of blood inching ominously out from under a door. His heart stilled for a moment; a peculiar presentiment shot through him as he sprinted towards the door, and he flung it open to see Delilah Blackthorn lying in a pool of her own blood on the floor, her head slumped to the side and hair winnowing out beside her, lips and eyelids purple as a corpse, arm flung limply out, grasping for a wand which lay just out of reach.

He flew to her side and lifted the sodden left sleeve of her robes.

‘Diffindo,’ he muttered, gently pulling away the entire sleeve to reveal the tail end of a deep gash.

‘Diffindo’: he slashed the shoulder seam and peeled down the corner of her robes to see that, although it was still throbbing out a steady pulse of dark, arterial blood, the gaping wound had at least missed her heart.

‘Diffindo’: he severed the cotton strip between the cups of her bra and gently lifted the left one, once a jejune cornflower blue trimmed with a girlish lace, now heavy and scarlet with the lifeblood which gushed from her with lavish abundance.

He became aware that the third-year student had followed him along the corridor and was standing in the open doorway, staring, mesmerised at Delilah’s maimed, naked flesh.

‘Get to the feast you disgusting child,’ he snarled over his shoulder, ‘this isn’t a peep show. And if you tell a single soul what you saw here you’ll be expelled.’ He slashed his wand through the air and the door slammed closed in the boy’s face.

‘Diffindo’; he tore off the other sleeve, severed the other shoulder seam of her robes and pulled them down entirely. He lifted away her other bra cup and began to mutter a counter curse, running the tip of his wand over and over the torn skin, curling his free fist in despair as the throb of blood slowed but the jagged edges of her skin refused to knit.

‘Come on,’ he muttered. ‘Come on.’

The worst wound ran from her sternum to her underarm, glancing over the top of her heart, deep and raw enough to make even Severus’ stomach turn over, pumping out blood that was thick as honey and so dark red it was almost black; this was surrounded by a number of more superficial but more stingingly scarlet wounds which ripped cruelly through the wincingly fragile-looking skin of her ribcage, which was fluttering madly like a rabbit’s.

Delilah was unconscious but still breathing in ragged little pants. He draped what remained of her robes back over her chest, then propped her up in the crook of his elbow and lifted her so that she flopped, light as a child in spite of her height, against his chest with her head on his shoulder, then gathered her mayfly legs in his other arm and staggered to his feet. He pointed his wand at the bathroom door with difficulty, accidentally letting her arm drop as he angled his wrist, so that her sundered robes fell open, her head flopped backwards and her wrist dangled down by her side. Severus strode through the corridor with her in his arms, staring down at her exposed neck, her pulse throbbing weakly against the delicately raised tendons of her throat. This is an excerpt from Chapter 10 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’. Check out the link in my profile to read the rest.

[behindthehatred]

Snapetober Day 9: Grief

Delilah didn’t even raise her head when she heard the door slam. She heard footsteps along the hallway and a thump as something landed at the foot of the stairs.

‘Miss Blackthorn?’ came a familiar voice. She didn’t answer.

After a moment Snape appeared in the doorway of the sitting room.

‘Fucking hell,’ he muttered.

‘Hi Professor,’ Delilah said listlessly from the sofa.

‘Are you ill?’

‘Huh?’

‘Are you ill?’ Snape repeated.

‘Nope,’ she said, still staring straight ahead. ‘I’m fine. Thanks for asking.’

‘If you aren’t ill, why do you look like you’re on your deathbed?’

‘Oh, just leave me alone.’

Severus stormed over to her, grabbed her by the upper arm and wrenched her into a sitting position. A crown of dead brown flowers slipped from the back of her head and shed a few crushed petals as it landed with a soft rustling sound on the sofa cushion.

‘What are you doing?’ she moaned.

‘Stand up,’ he commanded, yanking again at her arm.

‘Ouch,’ she said feebly, tottering to her feet. She pulled her arm from his grip and rubbed at the pink marks his fingers had left. ‘What’s your problem?’

‘I am plainly not the one with the problem. Your trunk was sent from your father’s house six days ago. Why are you still wearing the same clothes I left you in?’

Delilah looked blankly down at her blue dress and gave a half-hearted tug at its piteously rumpled skirt.

‘Dunno,’ she mumbled.

‘And when is the last time you ate?’

‘I woke up a couple of times and there was a sandwich beside me,’ she said slowly, frowning as though dredging up a distant memory. ‘I had a go at those. And someone keeps bringing me tea. I don’t know who though, I never seem to see them come.’

‘A Hogwarts House Elf has been assigned to care for you, for all the good it’s done. You are clearly spellbound by the glamour of your own misfortune, so have committed to a path of self-destruction. Perhaps you’d prefer that we withdrew our pesky efforts to keep you alive, and left you to suffer in peace?’

Delilah’s back stiffened, and she turned to Snape a face bearing an expression of purest hatred.

‘You think I’m enjoying this?’ she snarled, a hot throb of rage juddering through her with astonishing force. ‘You think I wanted to find myself in a strange house, entirely alone in the world? My father dead, my stepmother and sister in hiding, forbidden from communicating with my mother, Terry jinxed to forget he ever laid eyes on me, moving to a different school under a different name so I can exist as some kind of ghost?’

‘I think you are buckling under the weight of your own self-pity,’ Snape countered ruthlessly. ‘Yes, you’ve suffered losses, and yes, your circumstances have changed dramatically, but if you think yours is the tragic low-point of this blighted century, you are woefully misguided. Your tale is far from uncommon.’

‘Why do you care?’

‘Your self-absorption is almost inspiring in its resilience. It has been explained to you more than once that your life, or more precisely your death, contains consequences for the entire wizarding community.’ Snape clasped Delilah’s arm again and began to march her towards the doorway. ‘It is essential that you survive, it is essential that you remain undetected, and in order for that to happen you must resist the urge to draw attention to yourself.’

‘I’m not drawing attention to myself,’ Delilah growled, wrenching her arm again from his grasp. ‘I just want to be left a-fucking-lone.’

‘You expect to be left alone at Hogwarts if you slouch around with a face like thunder and hair like a bird’s nest? You expect to avoid raising suspicion if you refuse to wash, eat and change your clothes?’

‘When’s the last time you washed your hair?’ she shot back.

Snape lunged for her arm again and she span to avoid his hand, pulling her wand from the pocket of her dress and turning it on him in a blind rage. She had no sooner raised her arm than Snape’s wand seemed to materialise in his hand and he wordlessly disarmed her, then grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her back against the wall, leaning into her, his wand-tip pressed to the side of her head.

‘Don’t raise your wand at me, you stupid child,’ he hissed.

‘I’m not a child,’ she panted. ‘I’ve been seventeen for almost an entire day.’

‘Nonetheless, you will bathe if I have to strip you and do it myself.’

Chest heaving with exertion, blood thundering through her veins, Delilah was assailed by the memory of Terry’s body pressing her against the garden shed at The Briar House as Snape’s was now, his trembling fingertips exploring her nipples, which even now responded to the memory, his palm sliding up her inner thigh, and as Snape’s obsidian eyes locked hers in a contact which she seemed incapable of breaking, she remembered that her dress had still been around her waist when he’d snatched her from that embrace, and recalled with a shock that the rough knuckle of his hand, clenched around the shaft of his wand, had been digging into the yielding flesh of her left breast as he restrained her, the side of his index finger nudging the pebbled skin of her areola. She felt a mad urge to tug the straps of her dress down and let it fall again from her shoulders, and imagined those flickering eyes slithering slowly down to her naked breasts, his hand sliding up her shoulder and tracing across her collarbone, then creeping down her sternum…

Snape suddenly released her arm as though it were scalding his skin, and stepped backwards.

‘You will wash and eat,’ he said roughly. ‘Today. I have recovered your belongings from your mother’s house. If you disobey me, I shall hear of it.’

She staggered at the abrupt release from his bodyweight and followed him into the corridor in time to see a flash of black vanish behind the door as it slammed after him. She saw her old suitcase lying at the foot of the stairs and sank to sit on the bottom step, willing her racing pulse to still.

This is an excerpt from Chapter 4 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’ - if you enjoyed it, please follow the link in my profile to read the rest.

[behindthehatred]

Snapetober Day 7: Nightmares

Excerpt from ‘Behind the Hatred’ Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window and Delilah woke peacefully, propping herself up on her elbow and reaching for the glass of water on her bedside table. She must have forgotten to close the curtains, which was unlike her, since there was a streetlight just outside whose synthetic amber glow in the darkness normally bothered her.

‘Why are you wearing that blue dress in bed?’ came a voice from the doorway. Delilah looked up to see Professor Snape standing there, pale and calm as a statue.

‘I use it as a nightie nowadays,’ she said.

‘You shouldn’t. It’s a dress, not a nightgown.’

‘Does it bother you?’

‘Yes.’ His eyes roamed over her shoulders and down to her chest. She glanced down to see that one of the straps had slipped off her shoulder and the loose bodice had fallen to one side.

‘Do you remember that night you kidnapped me? I was wearing it then.’

‘I know.’ He walked haltingly towards her, his face queerly shadowed in spite of the golden morning light.

Now he was standing over her.

‘Take it off.’

She sat up and slipped the other strap off her shoulder, keeping her legs beneath the blanket. She shifted the skirt up around her waist and peeled the dress over her head. As she emerged she saw that he was not watching her, but staring at the wallpaper on the far wall.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked without looking at her.

‘I was wondering if you’d found my father’s body.’

He rotated his neck with smooth, reptilian movement to fix her with a dead stare and said, in a voice that seemed to scrape through the air, ‘we won’t find him. He will rot in the house of the Dark Lord.’

‘NOOOOOOOOOOO!’ Delilah howled in sudden terror, and woke with her hands clapped to her throat, her heart pounding, and her back soaked with clammy sweat.

The curtains were drawn, but a chink of sunlight showed through a narrow gap between them. This is an excerpt from Chapter 6 of my fiction, ‘Behind the Hatred’. Click the link in my profile to see more.

[behindthehatred]

Behind the Hatred | Chapter 9: Bleak Midwinter

‘Miss du Lac?’

A sharp voice cut across the room, and Delilah jumped guiltily and sat up in her chair.

‘Yes, Professor?’ she said sheepishly.

‘Since you are clearly too much the expert in identifying and resisting the Choking Curse to pay attention, perhaps you’d like to answer my question?’

A long, pregnant pause followed, and the class craned round to stare.

‘Sorry Professor, I…’

‘Would you, then, care to tell us what it is that you find so much more riveting than my class?’

Delilah tried to slide the letter furtively into her textbook, but Snape was too quick: he was already striding across the room, and plucked the page up nimbly between his long fingertips. With a sinking heart Delilah watched his eyes scan down to the second paragraph, which he stared at for several seconds before turning back to her with blazing eyes.

He threw the letter back down on the desk.

‘Stand up,’ he snapped.

‘…Wh…?

‘Stand up,’ he repeated, grabbing her by the arm and marching her to the front of the class. He turned to face her and raised his wand.

‘Miss du Lac,’ he announced to the room, breathing heavily through his nose, ‘is going to demonstrate for us her expert skills in resisting the Choking Curse.’

Delilah barely had time to register those words.

Breathe consciously.

‘Asphyxi-‘

‘PROTEGO!’

Snape nimbly dodged his own spell reflecting off Delilah’s Shield Charm, and raised his own wand again with a snarl.

‘Expelliarmus!’ Delilah shrieked, and Snape’s wand jumped a few inches out of his hand before he caught it again in mid-air.

‘ASPHYXIASTUM!’ he bellowed, but her attempted Disarming had given Delilah a few seconds’ head start and she ducked to her knees, dodging the flash of yellow light from Snape’s wand by a whisker, and threw herself behind his desk.

After a moment’s silence she raised her head tentatively above the desk, and the class erupted into applause. She straightened, gazing around the class in surprise, then flushed furiously and, without looking at Snape, scurried back to her seat amid clapping and back-slapping, trying to suppress a grin.

‘A slapdash and undignified attempt,’ Snape said derisively once the applause had died down, ‘but I suppose an effective one. Now, on page 79 you will find…’

This is an excerpt from chapter 9 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’ - see my profile for a link!

[behindthehatred]

Behind the Hatred | Chapter 7: Back to Hogwarts

‘What if your husband comes home?’ moaned Gannon, gasping with pleasure as she teased his cock with her tongue.

‘Don’t speak about Milton,’ Lilith whispered. ‘He doesn’t matter, you and I are what matter now…’

‘But won’t he be cross?’

‘He wouldn’t dare. He doesn’t own me.’ Before Gannon could say anything more, she engulfed his entire cock in her hot, wet mouth and rubbed the tip against the back of her throat, gagging on his tremendous girth but noticing nothing except the fresh cry of pleasure that he gave, his strong hands grasping her skull in a dizzyingly powerful grip, and the deliciously salty drops of his pleasure sliding down the back of her throat–

There was a faint ‘pop’ in the hallway, and Delilah shoved the book guiltily into the pocket of her coat as a polite voice said ‘Hello?’

‘Hello,’ she said, springing to her feet as a man entered the room. She flushed as she recognised him as one of the wizards who had needlessly materialised in the hallway a few weeks earlier. He was young and very attractive, but he looked exhausted, with smudges under his eyes and flecks of grey hair showing through at his temples; for a moment in the doorway his expression was haunted and weary, but it immediately relaxed into a warm smile when he saw her.

‘I’m Remus,’ he said, approaching and extending a hand. ‘We met once, but you were so small, you won’t remember. You were just beginning to speak in a fantastic mix of English and French, and clung on to a little stuffed rabbit.’

‘You’re Remus Lupin? Dad’s told me all about you.’

This is an excerpt from Chapter 7 of my fan fiction ‘Behind the Hatred’ - link in my profile!

[behindthehatred]

Behind the Hatred | Chapter 8: Whispers

Delilah pushed past him and out of the common room, running blindly down the steps and along the corridor, turned a corner and sprinted on, her feet pounding the flagstones, with no idea where she was going. She found herself at the top of the wide staircase to the Entrance Hall and carried on past them and up again, thinking she would find Professor Flitwick and get him to help her, but as she approached his office door she found it locked, and hammered fruitlessly at it.

‘FUCK!’’ she thundered at the door, wondering what to do next.

‘Profanity is not tolerated in this school, Miss Du Lac,’ came a silky voice from behind her. ‘Ten points from Ravenclaw.’

Delilah wheeled around to face Professor Snape.

‘Dumbledore,’ she gabbled. ‘I have to find Dumbledore straight away.’

‘Professor Dumbledore is not on the premises,’ Snape said. ‘Your pressing enquiry will have to wait until his return.’

‘But this is absolutely urgent,’ she shouted. ‘How do I get hold of him?’

‘You cannot “get hold of him”,’ Snape drawled mockingly. ‘As I said, you will have to wait.’

‘Well,’ she said desperately, ‘then you’ll have to help me.’

‘I do not have to do anything. I do not answer the commands of students, however loudly they are administered.’ He was obviously enjoying her frustration immensely.

‘Professor, please,’ Delilah said, stepping towards him. ‘It’s about my stepmother.’

Snape regarded her with narrowed eyes.

‘This had better be quick,’ he said at length, and turned back towards the steps to the Entrance Hall. Delilah followed him down them and then through a doorway and down another flight of stairs, hopping with impatience as they proceeded through the dimly-lit dungeon passages, until he turned into a small alcove with a doorway which sprang open to admit them as they approached.

‘Now,’ he said, closing the door behind him, straightening a stack of parchment and seating himself with maddening leisure behind a handsome wooden desk. ‘Please calm down and tell me what this is about.’

This is an excerpt from my fic Behind the Hatred. Link in my profile if you want to read the rest! 

[behindthehatred]

Behind the Hatred | Chapter 6: Transactions

The grandfather clock in the hallway outside gave a wheezy clang announcing 10 o’clock, reminding her with a start that Professor Snape was due to arrive. She rushed for the staircase and collided with him in the doorway.

He appraised her tangled hair, bare feet and faded nightshirt with its several missing buttons, and raised an eyebrow. Seeing him, a memory of her dream about him that morning flashed through her mind and, even though there was no way he could know about it, felt her cheeks flush with a shudder of embarrassment.

‘You didn’t receive the headmaster’s note?’ he enquired drily.

‘Yes. But the owl only arrived about five minutes ago.’

‘Plenty of time to have got dressed.’

‘I was in the middle of my breakfast.’

‘And now?’

‘I’m on my way upstairs. Just give me a minute.’

‘As long as you’re sure you don’t have any more pressing commitments. Don’t mind me: I have literally nothing better to do than hang around waiting for you.’

Biting back a retort, she went up to her bedroom and hurriedly pulled on a light cotton dress, shoved her feet into her sandals and dragged a brush through her hair. She dug her handbag out from under the bed where she’d tossed it after her aborted bid for freedom, stuffed in the folded letter from Professor Dumbledore along with the equipment list, and rootled for her sunglasses as she jogged down the stairs, dragging them out from a tangle of other things and pushing them up onto her head to keep her hair off her face. Refastening the bag, she spotted her red leather purse and paused on the staircase.

‘Are you ready?’ Snape asked impatiently from the foot of the stairs, as though she’d been gone for twenty minutes instead of three.

‘Professor, I don’t know how to access my bank account,’ she said, ignoring the gripe. ‘My Gringotts key is at The Briar House somewhere. Do you think they’ll let me into my vault if I show my wand or something?’

‘You won’t need to access your account. School funds will buy your robes and books.’

‘I’d much rather get at my own money,’ she said. ‘There’s other stuff I might want to buy.’

‘As you wish,’ Snape shrugged. She continued down the stairs and he grasped her upper arm with his customary long-fingered grip. By the end of the summer, she thought, she would have five fingertip-shaped bruises from where he kept manhandling her.

‘For one thing,’ she added craftily as he frogmarched her down the hallway towards the front door, ‘I’d really like to pick up some Floo powder. Just think, that whole debacle the other day could have been avoided if only there had been some in the house.’

He stopped dead and turned his onyx gaze on her for a moment before Disapparating abruptly with her in tow.

She staggered as he released her arm, blinking in the light of the yard behind the Leaky Cauldron.

‘A little warning would have been nice,’ she grumbled, but he had already walked over to the back wall of the yard and was flicking his wand with practised precision at the brick which prompted the Alley’s stately archway to blossom into view. As the ornate brass inflorescences unfurled to the last exquisite detail, Delilah felt her spirits lift more than she would have thought possible. She slid her sunglasses down onto her nose and made for the cobbled street anticipating the bustle of activity, the sounds of chattering shoppers, people meeting up for a drink or an ice cream in the sunshine, the cheery shouts of street vendors touting their wares. Freedom at last: fresh air and a wide blue sky, glorious sunshine beating down on her…

Snape threw out his arm so that it slammed into her sternum.

‘A word,’ he said.

‘Yes?’ she replied pleasantly. A balloon of happiness had filled her chest, unpunctured by Snape’s sour expression.

‘You will meet me back here at 5pm precisely. You will not draw attention to yourself or speak-’

‘Speak to anybody unless strictly necessary, I know. Dumbledore already put it in his letter. Can’t we make it a bit later? Say 8 o’clock?’

‘You have business here that will occupy you for ten hours?’

‘No, it’s just… I haven’t been out of the house for so long. I don’t want to go back so soon.’

‘Very well,’ Snape said tersely.

Delilah waited. He didn’t say any more, but he didn’t stalk off like he normally did to signal the end of a conversation.

‘So, is that it?’ she prompted.

He threw her a look which she could have sworn contained a flicker of nerves.

‘If you’re going to ask about the Floo Powder, you needn’t worry,’ she said, emboldened by her sunny mood. ‘I won’t tell anyone you forgot to leave me any.’

He said nothing but appraised her with narrowed eyes.

‘I would be grateful of that,’ he replied at length.

‘It was a bit rotten of you to tell Dumbledore I just didn��t know how it worked,’ she went on cheerily, ‘but I won’t rat you out. You can owe me one.’

He bowed his head as though acquiescing the proposal of a solemn contract.

‘8pm,’ he said by way of dismissal, and was gone. This is an extract from Chapter 6 of my fic ‘Behind the Hatred’. See the link in my profile to read the rest.